


A Second Spring

by CourierNinetyTwo, QuickYoke



Series: Seelie AU [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Multi, Seelie AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:31:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9818495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickYoke/pseuds/QuickYoke
Summary: Had Glynda made another choice at the end of Akrasia, the fate of the world itself would have changed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Roman and I decided to do an AU of our AU. Please read Akrasia first if you haven't, as this story begins by changing the last scene of the final chapter.

 

_Winter_

 

If Glynda had ever asked when it began, she would say it was the moment she read Cinder’s letter.

Those in the Courts who dreamed of a grand romance might have laughed at the implication, that a simple love token could work such change in so little time, but they lacked the understanding of the events that unfolded after. For with the letter came a promise, and with that promise Glynda steeled herself to make a choice she had once rejected over and over. In a way it stung, the words bittersweet on her tongue as she asked Ozpin to make her his Heir, but the King’s smile in turn was a quiet salve to her pride. He was overcome with joy, so much so that a party was immediately thrown in celebration, and all of Spring knew who their next Queen would be.

The coronation came swiftly, and few were surprised. For thousands of years Ozpin had ruled, survived wars and conflict that had long since been woven into legend, and a growing dread spread throughout Spring that he would die without choosing someone to inherit his strength. When the cusp of winter brought first snow, the old King passed peacefully in his sleep, and his funeral was a long festival honoring a life full to bursting of accomplishments rather than a devotion to grief. Nonetheless, Glynda spent the week before the coronation in solitude, sorrow weighing her down like a stone.

It was only lifted the day before she received her crown when the Autumn Court arrived in full form, carrying the splash and stain of red past the Spring gates. Summer was there too, of course, bearing goodwill to her new fellow Queen, and a cohort from the Winter Court as well, despite the hardship it now took for Silberne to cross into climes that were not so deeply influenced by his presence. Yet it was Cinder that Glynda longed to see, and it was for Cinder that the chain across her household doors was opened for. Months had fled since the letter reached her hand, months since they had spoken, but receiving Ozpin’s Inheritance and making it public knowledge had been Glynda’s reply.

Cinder’s eyes were golden with mirth and with hunger, a starved sort of desire that Glynda welcomed as they tumbled into bed together. Here with those dark lips on hers, primal magic coursing through her veins with the urge to join, blood and creation melding anew, she possessed no doubts, not a single one. Not until Cinder whispered a question in that liminal frame between darkness and sunrise, when the silver light of stars glimpsed through their window began to burn white with the coming day.

“Why did you forgive me?”

In that instant, Glynda knew the tie between them could be severed cleanly, that she could reach into that most vulnerable spot of Cinder’s heart and tear it from its roots, but if she had planned to do that, the letter would have been tossed into her fireplace from the very beginning. The choice was made, and it must have been _right_ for Ozpin to smile so, for the woman she loved to cast all anger aside and ask for forgiveness instead. Before that moment, Glynda hadn’t been sure if it was possible.

She cupped that bronze face between her hands, watched the wildness burn in that questioning gaze, and whispered, “There is nothing to forgive. I only want the truth.”

So there in winter, the bones of their past actions were laid bare, stripped clean. Glynda welcomed the chill as they spoke and made plans together, a reminder of her father’s blood even if he was long since at rest. After her coronation, the next choice was clear, a singular decision that would place them both as equals not only in rank, but to the Courts themselves.

News of the proposed wedding spread faster than any war missive or cry of assassination in anyone’s recent memory, sparking a wave of controversy that left Spring and Autumn alike deluged with demands for an explanation. While there was technically no law against two sovereigns being wed, it had long been an unspoken rule, as such an alliance between paired courts could put them at odds with the others. Yet the fuss of many nobles was stifled when Summer herself declared support, having borne the distaste of her own Court for her choice in a consort, and Silberne’s silence on the matter was taken as tacit approval. Those in the gentry who had spoken out cut their tongues on apologies, and a new game of exclusion began, with everyone who ever had a title to their name scrambling to secure an invitation to the main event.

Cinder expected nothing less, and after weeks of watching favor curried and old friendships shattered, promptly declared that every member of all four Courts was welcome at both vows and reception. Those who had been spurned took to the news with glee, and the sharpest manipulators of the bunch suddenly found themselves absent their bargaining chip, all ambition dulled in one fell stroke. For her part, Glynda was far more concerned with the logistics of the ceremony itself, but their focus on two fronts meant any doubts raised about the wedding were quashed before they could ever gain ground.

Yet when the day itself came, Glynda’s hands shook too much to fix a stay on her dress, and she glared at the mirror in front of her as if a look alone would convince the thrice-damned garment to arrange itself. As it was, the dress was unduly complicated, layers of sheer tulle and lace in a dozen complimentary shades of white, each scattered through with crimson petals that started sewn at the line of her corset and tapered back down the train in a flourish of red, stark as blood on snow. Its skirts whispered across the ground as she walked, rippling like fog with every step -- and in a mercy, were long enough to cover her far more sensible boots beneath them, as the thought of wearing heels throughout the entire event sounded nothing short of appalling.

“What has you undone, Glynda?” Cinder’s voice carried from the doorway, tone fond but bearing a teasing edge.

Said teasing made green eyes narrow, and she glanced back over her shoulder, caught between chastising Cinder for the interruption and simply wanting the frustration of the dress over with. Yet Glynda’s tongue stilled the moment she saw what Cinder wore, clad in shades that dared dark as wine before warming to the red of a fresh, perfect apple, and rather than the detailing of falling petals, blossoms of white and green sprouted like a new garden had burst from the fabric. It was a sharp contrast, but one that made them blend together in unison the moment Cinder’s skirt brushed against hers.

“Little more than our entire future.” Glynda whispered back, a wry smile curving her lips. “What we’re about to do is what cannot be undone, Cinder.”

A laugh spilled from Cinder’s throat, amusement making her eyes glitter. “You say that like there aren’t going to be a dozen divorces after people get drunk at our reception tonight.”

“I don’t mean the wedding, I mean--” There was little use in gesturing to everything around her, yet the urge was there. “No two Courts have been joined in this way before. We’ve been split into four pieces since the beginning.”

“And fought how many wars because of it?” Cinder raised a dark brow. “The balance we bring will be more stable when two of the sovereigns in power are bound not to turn against each other.”

“Woe be to our enemies.” Glynda muttered under her breath.

Yet it was loud enough to hear, and Cinder’s smile could have sliced through steel. “Woe to them indeed.”

The stay was fixed by dexterous fingers, as Cinder always had a gift with clothes and such materials that Glynda herself had never found the knack for. Even before they finished walking down the long servant’s tunnel that hid them from public view, a thousand clashing sounds of the guests outside began to bleed through the walls, and even with the steps of bodyguards more than a hundred paces back, she felt crowded. Cinder’s hand in hers was an anchor, the simple contact offering a warm and solid presence that the presumed protection of the stone halls around them did not.

A set of massive wooden doors was the only barrier between themselves and a hall that brimmed with the four gathered Courts, carved from a tree so ancient that both doors had been carved from its single trunk cleaved in two, and Glynda spent a long moment staring at its countless rings before letting out a deep breath. Cinder smiled beside her, even as their hands parted.

“Come now, you’ve made countless ceremonies come to pass.” Reaching for the brass rings binding the door shut, Cinder’s fingers tensed. “And we don’t have to hide any more.”

That was the strangest truth of them all, the one that settled in Glynda’s stomach like a stone as they walked down a beautiful carpet, its colors weaving notes of Spring and Autumn together with every stitch. The sword she once expected to drop and pierce them both through the moment their tryst was revealed had never come, amounting to little more than a couple of vile rumors, all far more baseless than the truth. She had even feared someone to emerge from Cinder’s past and shout what was long suspected, that her lover’s path to the throne had been cut there in a trail of blood.

It was all true. Since the night after her coronation, Glynda had demanded the truth, extracted every sin until Cinder confessed herself hoarse and neither of them could feign ignorance. That was the only way they could rule and yet share a bed, for Glynda refused to act in the interests of Spring without knowing Autumn’s motives, and the division between Cinder and her role as Queen was a complicated matter at best. Yet she had been promised honesty, as well as the right to confirm the truth by any means necessary.

Not so romantic, she supposed, but it was comforting in its own way.

When they entered the open hall, a powerful song began to play, carried along by a veritable pack of musicians hidden behind columns carved from woods native to Glynda’s court, the leaves of Autumn wrapped tightly around them, cast in paper-thin copper. The crowds immediately moved to stand from their seats, rising like a wave, the shift of fabric and jewelry creating a dissonant sort of whisper until it settled. Summer and Silberne took the front rows of either side, surrounded by their families and personal guard, with Spring and Autumn nobility directly behind the royal lines.

There was no one waiting to guide them, to give oaths or pronounce vows. A wedding amongst the fae was a promise of a couple made public by whatever method they so chose, and the only symbol needed was the woven ribbon on a plinth before the gathered guests, the colors of the two binding courts held together by threads of silver and gold. With measured steps, Glynda and Cinder approached it in unison, although the latter couldn’t help but mutter a remark under her breath.

“Are you shortening your stride?” Cinder whispered, hearing the shuffle of Glynda’s skirts as they came to a halt in front of the plinth.

“Merely keeping your pace.” Glynda replied with amusement, their fingers finally slipping free from one another’s.

The smile shared between them could not be so easily concealed. Cinder tilted her head just a degree, a silent request for Glynda to speak first.

“Thank you to all who have gathered here on a day of joining and celebration.” Glynda’s voice rang out clear as a bell, deafening the quickened pace of her heart even as it pounded between her ears. “And please be seated. We are the only ones who should be burdened by ceremony today.”

That earned a few good-natured laughs, and she allowed them to fade before continuing. “I stand before you as the Most Honored of Spring, but even sovereigns have passions and desires. Our blood does not still in our veins, no matter what power we wield. And thus mine has been stirred to action.”

Glynda turned to face Cinder, sparing only a brief glance to the ribbon between them before their eyes met. “For centuries I have looked upon you, Cinder Fall. I have seen you bloom from a huntress to that who bears Autumn’s sacred crown. My longing has only grown with each year we share in each other’s embrace, and this step we take today is a mere formality in comparison. But I pledge my life’s bond to you, before all those gathered here, and ask that we be wed.”

Bowing her head for a moment of silence and contemplation, Cinder’s gaze snapped back to Glynda’s, ablaze with a warmth that had naught to do with fury, but was full of a feeling both of them often struggled to give voice to.

“I stand before you as Most Honored of Autumn, who oversees fading light and fallen leaves. The last gasp of life of every year serves under my stead, but it is when I am with you that it always returns anew. No fire burns its brightest without your presence, no hunt is nearly so satisfying or sweet. I rule over little if your throne is not opposite mine. I am bereft.” Cinder’s words were honeyed, golden as her never-blinking stare. “From this day forth, I pledge my life’s bond to you before the eyes of those attending, and ask for eternity.”

There was a moment’s pause, a faint murmur from the front of the crowd, before Cinder laughed, the sound carrying high over the music that had managed to keep its beat. “But if that is too much, I will wed you in its place.”

Glynda huffed, reaching for the ribbon, and the momentary doubts of the crowd transformed into good humor within the blink of an eye. Cinder held out her wrist without hesitation, letting one length be loosely wound around it before she took the other into her custody, winding it around Glynda’s in turns. Grabbing opposite ends, they slowly pulled together until a knot was formed, binding their hands together. Fingers laced tight, they looked out towards the assembled fae, who all awaited with bated breath.

“Our bond is professed.” Glynda said first.

In the next breath, Cinder spoke. “Are there any who stand against it?”

Silence answered. Silberne drew a quick symbol of blessing in the air with one clawed finger, expressing his approval, and Summer bowed her head. When the moment of declaration passed, every guest burst into cheers. The applause was sonorous, lasting until Glynda could hear nothing else but its echo, and it was bound as such that she spoke again.

“Then walk with us to the reception. Today, you all bear the title of friend and are welcome.”

Thanks to a massive infusion of Autumn spirits and Spring wine, the reception quickly turned into drunken carousing, and Cinder had the pleasure of overseeing most of it. Glynda saw to the gifts that were brought, ensuring her attendants made the proper notes for later thank yous, and had them ferried into another room so more of the floor could be opened for celebration. It wasn’t until the hour of midnight tolled that they called for a homeward return, thanking all who attended for honoring their union.

Thus it was in darkness that Cinder drew Glynda into a private chamber, one built on neutral lines between the courts. It was a commonplace practice among those who married from different seasons, but much preparation had been enacted for the sake of pleasing both Queens in attendance, although neither noticed the finer details on their singularly determined path towards the bed. Stays were undone in record time, skirts displaced and cast aside before the garments underneath were torn asunder with joy, a building sort of rapture.

“You know we’re supposed to share a drink from a single cup before this moment,” Glynda murmured against Cinder’s mouth, even as her hands found purchase on her wife’s bare hips, urging their bodies down against soft, clean sheets.

“I will drink from you and you alone.” Cinder growled in turn, nails biting into pale shoulders when Glynda straddled her, the pain slanted toward encouragement rather than protest.

“My wild one.” She uttered the words along the curve of Cinder’s throat, hands tracing over breasts and stomach alike, verdant magic jumping from her fingertips to offer a second echo of the caress. “How I love you.”

It was only in the rarest moments that either one of them expressed such sentiments, far from where any other living thing could hear. Even with absolute solitude, the affection was not automatic, but more like a light cast into the dark when both found themselves in need of guidance. Here in this place where bodies and power entwined, it could have been taken as a promise.

“And I love you.” It was whispered up into the air as one of Cinder’s hands slipped up into Glynda’s hair, weaving through before gripping tight. “Shall we prove it?”

Privately, Glynda thought they already had, but she had no intention to smother passion now so fiercely summoned.  


_\--_

_Spring_

 

With a new Sovereign of Spring always there followed a century of bounty. New life lunged through the four Courts after the Spring Queen’s first Beltane with a wildness previously unknown, casting its roots deeply into realms even beyond that of the fae, its burgeoning magics creeping into every corner of the world. Many saw the outbreak of new life as an omen of good fortune after generations of stagnation; now Inheritances could be claimed by any number of heirs rather than fearfully relying on a sole child, and families celebrated this newfound growth far and wide.

The appearance at the Spring Court of a mortal, the seventh son of a seventh son, sent murmurs rippling through the gentry and commoners alike, an auspice not seen for millennia. Four close members of the Wild Hunt -- Glynda recognized them immediately as the children of Autumn banished by Cinder early in her reign -- delivered the human Jaune to her care, and she granted him to her newly proclaimed Knight to train, a young and reserved fae of good standing by the name of Lie Ren. Though there the portents did not cease.

From the ranks of Autumn, a champion of much renown rose from the ashes of obscurity. A young Courtier of low birth, Pyrrha Nikos forged a bruised and battered path to fame through the dueling tournaments that flourished across the Courts. Her skill and vigour caught the sharp eye of many a gambling noble, and coin flowed from hand to hand, audiences clamouring for a glimpse of this young undefeated victor striding across the arena floor in a flare of bronze and Venery-red. However, when in one battle she was grazed with an iron-tipped blade, the crowds watched in awe as the metal -- sure as the grave to any fae -- slid from her skin without a mark.

After a grueling series of tests, Cinder declared her the Ironblooded and claimed Pyrrha for her own. Only once a generation did the Ironblooded appear, and the last had died fletched with silvered arrows, murdered by the conniving nobility in outrage towards the ill-begotten daughter of the old Autumn King. That this nigh-immortal champion would be born once more to Autumn rather than to Winter as the cycle demanded sent a flurry of caustic rumors nervously through the other Courts while Autumn celebrated its unnaturally good fortune.

Yet where life sprang, death soon succeeded. Its pursuit found purchase in the highest of ranks, and upon the first blossoms of Spring, the Winter King at last was laid to rest. His reign was the longest of all the old guard and no shock ensued, though sorrow gripped the Winter Court tight. It cast the cold marmoreal halls in darkness for four days of mourning before the new Queen was crowned, a glacial coronal perched upon her brow. The fair Winter rose in her father’s stead with her younger sister and Heir firmly at her side, and all the Courts knew -- for awhile -- peace.

The next victim death claimed far too quickly. Summer Rose was in her prime when the mysterious illness struck, and no healers, no rest, no amount of precious and priceless Dust could revive her from the shadow that stole her life away. Some members of Court that remembered older, darker days whispered of foul play, casting their gazes towards the unprecedented union between Spring and Autumn -- though no proof could be found. Vicious gossip and such murmurs remained, and once the young Ruby Rose was anointed as her Heir, Yang Xiao Long took Summer’s place upon the Throne, despite the many objections from more conservative members of Court that challenged her Wildling lineage.

In an attempt to quell any rumours that flitted between Courts after the Summer coronation, the Queens of Spring and Autumn rode together in a long royal procession across the eternal tundra of Winter to strengthen the bonds of fidelity between Sovereigns. They traveled beneath the Yule Gates like the heads of a solemn cortège to pay their respects, first greeted by Winter’s young heir.

Weiss dipped into a shallow curtsy with a brief bend of her knees, the long fabric of her pale dress whispering against the icy ground while around her throat the flare of her collar burned a daring burgundy. “Your Majesties, I welcome you to this Court.”

Glynda held out one hand for Ren to assist in her dismount -- a ceremonial gesture more than actual aid -- while Cinder leapt from the back of her own steed to land in a flurry of snow at her booted feet. Here in fields of white, the Autumn Queen was thrown into sharp relief, her outline a mark like a handprint, bloodied and indelible. The years flushed in power had made Cinder’s movements more lithe, more fluid, so that her stride carried her forward with a panther-like grace, footfalls unnaturally quiet across the usual crunch of ice. Standing before Weiss, Cinder cocked her head to regard her. “Winter does not greet us herself? How very unorthodox for one who so staunchly clings to every formality.”

“She--” Weiss swallowed, barely resisting the urge to take a step back and give herself space from Cinder’s searing presence. “Her Majesty wishes to receive you in the Court proper, as is befitting your stations as fellow Sovereigns.”

Spotting Weiss’ obvious discomfort beneath Cinder’s intense scrutiny, Glynda moved forward, and where she walked the permafrost bloomed into a bed of floret-speckled grass at her feet.

“Our aim here is to strengthen ties not fray them, Cinder.” She chided sternly, then tried to gentle her expression when turning to Weiss. Regardless, the presence of two Queens in such close proximity brought a fine tremble to Weiss’ fingertips, which she tried in vain to hide by folding her hands at her waist.

As always, Cinder’s gold-washed gaze missed no detail, and she smiled to reveal a flash of fangs. “Perhaps I merely wanted to see her out of her sister’s shadow.”

Hearing that, Weiss’ spine stiffened, something brief and imperious crossing her features before she could stifle it. Cinder admired the sight, taking note and filing the reaction away. That mettle faded away, swift as first snowmelt, the moment Cinder took another step forward, flanked by Neo on one side and Pyrrha towering at her heels on the other, a glare of light dappled across the Ironblooded’s bronze armor. Nodding her head, a quick jerk of her chin, Cinder ordered, “Lead the way, then.”

She watched as Weiss reluctantly turned her back. When Cinder turned to offer an arm to her wife, however, Glynda shot her a mildly disapproving look before laying her hand at Cinder’s wrist. As they entered the Court, their combined retinues pursued, led by their respective Knights and newfound presages. Pyrrha looked resolutely on, focused and steadfast as ever, while Jaune stumbled at Ren’s side, craning his neck to gape at the vaulted ceilings high above that shimmered in a ghostly light.

Even here Cinder noticed that the slowest-growing Court of all the kingdoms bustled with new life. She had always thought of Winter as being a barren place in comparison to others, powerful in its own way, but fallow nonetheless. Now though the halls very nearly clamored with row upon row of fae, all aligned in mass assembly, dropping into deep bows as the Queens of Autumn and Spring passed. Spying one unique pair among the crowd, Cinder lowered her voice and murmured, “I see Ironwood, too, has been blessed with a daughter.”

Curiously Glynda’s eyes flickered in a covert glance towards the old general and his progeny. She had heard rumors of Ironwood’s strange Dust experiments that had resulted in many failed homunculi. Now it seemed he had succeeded, and beside him a small girl bobbed on the tips of her metallic toes to see over the heads of those who stood before her, blithely pointing at Glynda and Cinder until Ironwood reached over to lower her hand. With a gentle squeeze of Cinder’s wrist, Glynda replied, “It has been a few centuries worth of blessings.”

To that Cinder answered only with a low wordless hum. So many heirs, while she and Glynda stood alone at the head of their kingdoms. For a fleeting moment Cinder considered a legacy that existed beyond them, stretching into an uncertain future, but the sound of Pyrrha’s keen brassy footfalls a step behind her halted those thoughts in their tracks. Eyes narrowing, jaw clenching, Cinder turned her hand over to lace her fingers with Glynda and grip tight. All her life, Inheritances had always been what held her back, dragged her down -- her mother, her father, her own Grimm-damned line. This -- her knuckles flashed white around Glynda’s hand -- this was enough.

Here Glynda’s own heritage shone clearly through. Her golden hair, clasped back into a severe bun at the base of her neck, was starting to tinge with silver. She seemed to melt into the surrounding environment even as her presence heralded a vernal outbreak with every footfall, like the first thaw of Spring. Standing so near to Weiss, Cinder could see the similarities in Court if not in backbone.

As though she had been privy to Cinder’s thoughts, Weiss’ back curved forward as she dropped into a low curtsy before the throne. “Most Honored of Winter, may I present to you their Majesties of Spring and Autumn.”

Atop her pale throne Winter sat, at once brumal and hawkish. A coat of rime crystallized at her touch, melding her body to the seat, crackling when she tilted her head back to peer down at her fellow Sovereigns. Cinder could recall the ancient force of Silberne’s presence, flooding a bitter cold into those who dared to look upon him, and while Winter carried that same power, it felt raw, rough-hewn, harshly edged. She was an unshaped glacier, still young, still callow, commanding a sea of ice, and flanked on either side by not one but two Knights, twin girls with dark hair severely cut, pillars of black and white standing beside Winter’s throne, motionless. _The Malachites_ , Cinder knew them by name and reputation.

“Thank you, Weiss.” Winter said with a dismissive flick of her gloved fingers, not once tearing her colorless gaze from Cinder and Glynda. Then she addressed them directly, “You are most welcome at my Court. I hope to return the favor of a visit in the near future. Too long has Winter taken refuge in the safety of its own borders, and remained a bystander to the affairs of others.”

In spite of herself Cinder’s eyebrows rose. The last time a Winter Sovereign had crossed the borders between realms for anything other than strict ceremony, Silberne had ridden atop a skeletal steed into battle, slaying the Summer Queen before coming to a truce with Ambrose and Ozpin. Based on the held breath of the Court in attendance, watching, Cinder had no doubt everyone else remembered this as well.

“And we would gladly receive you,” Glynda answered. Was her voice a touch chilly? Or was it merely Winter’s unwavering stare? Cinder was hard pressed to tell.

At that a hint of a smile -- or perhaps a grimace -- tilted one corner of Winter’s mouth. In a chorus of snapping ice she rose, unfolding herself to tower for a brief moment before descending the steps that led to the throne. She was, Cinder noted distastefully, taller even than Glynda, and she stood with hands clasped behind her back in a stance that belied her extensive military training.

With all three of them standing so close together, a mere few strides apart, the air itself clashed, creating a metallic dissonance on the tongue like the taste of lightning. Those of the retinue standing nearest them were visibly unsettled, shifting their feet in order to surreptitiously shuffle further away.

Winter’s eyes snapped between Glynda and Cinder, until she finally settled her gaze upon something just beyond them. “I see you’ve brought me a token of your goodwill.”

“Of course.” Cinder gestured for Jaune to come forward, bearing a massive sword and shield she had uncovered from Autumn’s vaults soon after her own coronation. The relics had once belonged to Silberne, but were claimed by Ambrose during the last wars millennia ago.

No sooner had Jaune fumbled for the weapons than Winter stepped forward to stand not before him, but before Pyrrha. Her pale gaze studied the bronze-beaten circlet binding Pyrrha’s long red hair. “You do well to return this creature to me,” she said to Cinder even as she continued to appraise Pyrrha. “It is an excellent display of your commitment to the balance between our Courts.”

Puzzled for a moment, Cinder frowned between Winter and Pyrrha before understanding exactly what she meant. The realization dawned on her face, and Cinder’s lip curled into a barely restrained snarl. “No.”

Aside, Jaune heedlessly began to move to present Winter with her father’s armaments, but Ren grabbed him by the arm with a sharp shake of his head to prevent the interruption. Meanwhile, Neo’s eyes flickered from black to pink and back again and she broadened her stance, fondling the carved handle of her axe in lustful anticipation.

Glynda intervened, stepping close to Cinder and grasping her elbow as though merely linking arms. “I think there has been a simple error of judgement.” Glynda’s voice definitely sounded colder than usual, an icy richness to her words. “The Ironblooded is not our intended gift.”

“Is it a gift if it never truly belonged to you?” Winter cocked her head, every movement staggered between bouts of preternatural stillness. “The Ironblooded is mine by right.”

“She was born to my Court, not yours. There is no claim for you to press that would stand before another Sovereign’s judgement and be found credible.” Cinder spat. She could feel herself sinking somewhat and knew that the icy floor beneath her boots would be melting from the heat of her anger. She could hear the hiss of steam.

All around them the Court and the retinue watched with bated breath, not daring to speak a word as events unfolded right before them. Pyrrha stood stock still, and staring straight ahead; her throat bobbed as she swallowed, bound by duty not to react and defame her insulted Queen.

Winter rounded on Cinder, looming, her face a mask of cold fury. “You come to my Court to flaunt your aberrant union of Sovereigns, your breach of precedent. You cast the seasons into chaos. You sow imbalance. And now you refuse me even the smallest gesture of harmony?” She sneered as she gestured at Pyrrha, and her anger kicked up a flurry that scattered around her ankles.

“We come to your Court seeking hospitality and unity in a time of great mourning.” Glynda insisted staunchly, while beside her Cinder fumed in silence. “I am sad to say that both are lacking since my last visit during the reign of your father.”

Turning on her heel in disgust, Winter stormed back up the steps to her throne, where her Knights still stood in strict attendance, unflinching, their eyes surveying all who remained present. As Winter passed her sister at the foot of the dais, Weiss shot her a look of concern even as she flinched back a small step, both of which Winter either ignored or did not notice. Rather than sit, Winter stood beside the throne, leaning a knuckle against one of the slabs of ice that served as an armrest. When she spoke again her voice was as rigid as ever, and though soft it carried through the great hall.

“I need no reminder that I am not my father. I am aware of it.” Winter looked at the throne rather than at them, her back to the Court, revealing her snowy hair bound in a crown and net of diamonds. “You claim to come to me for unity? There is no unity between the Courts, nor has there ever been.”

When Glynda tried to speak up, Winter snarled, “Do not mock me!”

Her hands were clenched into fists, the supple kidskin gloves at her fingertips had whitened and gone stiff, and when she brought one fist down onto the arm of her throne, the leather there shattered. Pieces of it flaked to the ground, scattering along the frost-marbled floor at her Knights’ feet. Through the glove could be seen a section of skin that had begun to turn translucent, the ice creeping beyond her wrists and extending up her forearms.

Clearing her throat, fingers shaking, Winter turned to address them and simultaneously hide her hands behind her back once more. “Hospitality however, I cannot deny you.” Rather than gesture with her hands, she jerked her head towards one of the doors in the hall. “I have arranged quarters for you, a feast in your honour, and a hunt at dawn.”

At her words, a number of Faunus servants wearing white and red-streaked masks stepped into the great hall to escort Glynda, Cinder, and their retinue. Cinder tore her glare from where Winter stood, and immediately recognised a number of the Faunus, their eyes glinting owlishly behind the masks. They bowed, awaiting Cinder and Glynda to follow.

“You are too kind,” Cinder said dryly to Winter, snuffing out the growl in her words but unable to keep the heat from her glower. “We hope to one day repay the favour.”

Glynda squeezed Cinder’s elbow in silent reproach, but said nothing apart from a brisk, “We look forward to seeing you at the festivities this evening.” To which Winter merely bowed her head, crown glinting in the ghostly glow of braziers that lined the walls.

Muscles in her jaw bunching, Cinder stalked towards the nearest Faunus, who led them from the throneroom. Their retinue separated -- Pyrrha, Ren, Jaune, and Neo commanding the guards and gentry in assembly while their Sovereigns departed. As soon as they were alone and out of sight, rounding a second corner to descend further into the marmoreal halls, Cinder snarled something wordless, the sound tangling at the back of her throat.

“I’m not sure what you expected,” Glynda said, and though her tone was sarcastic, her touch at Cinder’s arm was comforting.

“Subtlety, at the very least.” Cinder growled. The soles of her boots were slick with ice that had re-frozen around her heels, though she remained as sure-footed as ever.

“Because subtlety has always been one of your many sterling qualities.” Glynda’s teasing was caustic, and Cinder squinted narrowly at her. Shaking her head, Glynda stroked her thumb at the underside of Cinder’s gold-tooled cuff. “We’re not younglings any longer, Cinder. We must lead by example.”

“I have every intention of doing so.” Cinder muttered. She lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders, and scowled at the back of the Faunus leading them to their quarters. The walk did not take long, and when the reached the towering doors to their guest quarters, the Faunus opened the door for them and bowed once more.

Glynda breezed inside, only to pause at the threshold when Cinder did not follow. “Are you coming?”

“In a moment. I would like to speak with our escort.” Cinder replied.

Arching an eyebrow, Glynda peered between the two of them, a knowing glint to her gaze. “Not too much scheming, please. I’ve had enough to last me until supper.” She shut the doors behind her, leaving Cinder and the Faunus in peace.

Whatever pleasantness Cinder had reserved for her wife vanished as soon as Glynda was no longer present. The lines of Cinder’s face hardened, a predatory slouch sloping her shoulders back as she turned to regard the Faunus. “You’re new,” she remarked.

The Faunus’ ears twitched above their mask. “My name is Blake, Your Highness.”

A familiar name -- one that had come up in her White Fang reports from time to time -- but an unfamiliar face. Cinder aimed a piercing glare at them, admiring the patchwork of scars across what little skin that showed at their arms and neck beneath stark Court livery. “I need you to carry an important message.”

Blake did not reply, maintaining an air of stony silence that was affirmation enough. Through the incisions in the mask, Cinder could see their eyes, slitted and golden as a mountain cat’s.

Cinder’s teeth clenched into a fierce smile, fangs sharp in the light as she said. “Tell Adam we’re moving the plan forward.”

 

_\--_

_Summer_

 

It was a hunting accident.

That was the explanation when Winter’s death first broke across the four courts, sending them all into a frenzy. The queen had been found alone in one of the royal preserves rended limb from limb, blood soaked deep into the snow with her trustworthy blades still spotless in their sheaths. The area was known for massive prey to be sure, beasts who spent centuries in slumber and would suddenly arise ravenous to devour whatever lived nearby, but the mystery was in her solitude. Winter’s paranoia had become almost notorious since she was crowned, chilling relations with both Autumn and Spring, and the idea that she would wander off alone to hunt was unthinkable.

So it was then that whispers of conspiracy swept from border to border, whispers that grew to open suspicion as Weiss was coronated before a mourning court. The young Queen was nearly bent in two by the weight of her new crown, for the centuries one expected to devote to preparing for this moment had been rent asunder and stolen. Yet there was only one Heir, and Winter could not rule without a sovereign. Letters of support were sent from both married queens -- but the message that came from Summer begged for war.

Days after the coronation, Queen Yang declared a charge of treason against Cinder and the Autumn Court, citing evidence that her adoptive mother had been slain by an incredibly rare poison rather than illness decades before. What proof she had was enough to rally Summer forces to pick up arms, but the answer for an alliance from Winter was nothing more than silence. Out of fear, Weiss ordered the gates at the border shut, offering no succor to any side in the conflict, but that was enough of a statement to condemn the fledgling rebellion. Summer lands were left flanked by both Spring and Autumn, and there was no question that Glynda would support her wife, even if that simply meant denying Yang’s forces an avenue of escape.

There were some unexpected figures that rallied to the Summer Court’s cause. A massive civil war broke out amongst those who declared themselves to be members of the White Fang -- rogue Faunus dedicated to liberating the servant class that remained under the heel of the four courts -- where the faction lead by Adam Taurus seized on the opportunity to batter the Summer court in hope of destroying a bulwark of fae power, and the latter lead by a young Blake Belladonna. By all accounts a mere Autumn Court messenger, Blake fled with hundreds past the borders and into the arms of the Wild Hunt, carrying a new and dire pronouncement: Cinder was responsible for Winter’s death as well.

The cry was too quiet and too late, disbelieved by many who could not fathom that both monarchs were killed by the same fell hand. Cinder denied each claim with a vengeance, asking who among the nobility would believe the words of a half-Wilding child so new to her throne, much less rumors coming from embittered servants who lacked the mettle to make their accusations within court boundaries. Even the most dedicated gossips faltered after that, given a clear view into Autumn soldiers crushing those of Summer in battle after battle.

After months of quiet sabotage, it was in the final conflict that Adam threw his faction directly into the fray, striking Yang’s forces in the back while Cinder’s devastated the front line. The queen of Summer lost her arm in a direct fight with the Faunus, only to burn him to ash with the scorching power of her rage a moment later. Yet the damage was done, enough to leave her bleeding and weak when Cinder’s own magic cut a fiery path to the center, capturing Yang before there was another chance for Summer to bolster a new defense.

For the first time since the civil war of old, a sovereign of a hostile court was forced to kneel in front of another, but the rage in Yang’s eyes was endless as she peered up towards the Autumn throne, a spark that refused to be stifled, intent on consuming all around it.

“This is your last chance to offer surrender, Yang Xiao Long.” Cinder declared, holding that wounded gaze.

They were both drawn from fire, kin to flame and fury, but where Yang burned wild and white-hot, Cinder’s power was an all-consuming conflagration, the sort that burned acre after acre, leaving no choice but to run or to be cleansed. There was no mercy unless nature willed it, and the frost of winter was a fragile thing these days, while summer often spent weeks choked by the growth of spring before its own heat came forth.

Yet she was young, and stubborn.

“I will not surrender to a traitor!” Yang snapped. The chain binding her arms behind her creaked with strain, as the loss of her arm below the elbow meant the manacles were wrenched shut around her biceps instead. “You murdered my mother.”

“The loss of Summer Rose brought harm to us all, Yang, but you are a consort’s byblow, fighting for a bloodline that isn’t even yours.” Tilting her head as if curious, Cinder waited for the court’s drawn-in breath, knowing they would hang on every single word. “Did you think an attack on me would give you some sort of legitimacy? That we would look away from your weak claim to the throne if you could win a battle whipped up by conspiracy?”

Violet eyes snapped wide, confusion temporarily displacing anger, and Cinder drew on her own will to hide a smile. There it was, the weakness she could drive a wedge into. Yang had been so singularly determined to avenge Summer’s death that the implications behind it, the ever-tightening web of politics, had been passed by without thought.  
  
“No, this has nothing to do with that. I--” Yang spit at Cinder’s feet, drawing a gasp from the crowd assembled, even the Autumn Queen did little more than acknowledgement the action with a blink. “I was made Heir before all assembled! No objection was made!”

“Plenty were made, just not within your earshot, my young sovereign. But it has been many years since then, and Summer’s daughter is of age.” Of course, Ruby had little more training in the nuances of crown and kingdom than Weiss possessed when she ascended, but such trivial details could be dealt with later -- with advice from a more experienced Queen. “It is clear you are not fit to bear the crown, and for _your_ treason, I will cut away the rotten thread of your life and let true Summer blood rule in its place.”

A thousand murmurs spread through the crowd, some conflicted and others joyous. It was well-known that Cinder had come to rule Autumn through a manner of adoption rather than generations of a royal line, but plenty of the gentry ached to have the stability of their names restored, and returning the right of rule to Summer’s daughter by birth would be a step in that direction. To execute another sovereign could bring a backlash from the Summer Court, but both Autumn and Spring had already proven that any such rebellion had no hope for success.

Nonetheless, the balance was delicate. Cinder cast her eyes over the waiting nobles, holding her face in a somber frame, like a martyr bearing the burden of blood. “Are there any objections?”

“If I may speak to you freely, as neither wife nor queen.” Level steps carried across the floor of the court as Glynda approached, breaking her union of the crowd. This was Autumn’s purview, however, and she lacked the usual ornamentation of Spring sovereignty, dressed only in her court’s colors and absent a crown. “There is one.”

One dark brow knit, but Cinder nodded. “Approach me.”

Glynda felt Yang’s eyes follow her every stride as she passed by, severing the open space between the kneeling captive and Cinder’s throne. She stopped at the left side of it, noting the glint of Neo’s ever-shifting gaze in the shadows mere paces behind, but didn’t hesitate before leaning forward to whisper.

“If they have doubts you are a killer of sovereigns, Cinder, you will erase them in this moment with her execution.” Glynda fought the urge to take her wife’s hand, to make her point with more than words, but such was impossible with so many watching. “Her rebellion will end, but others may spring forth. It is well-known that Ruby loves her sister above all others.”

“Then what would you have me do in its place?” Cinder hissed back, low and almost guttural. “I will not let her go unpunished.”

There was a faint raise of shoulders, almost a shrug from Glynda. “You spoke of her mother, Cinder. Does she not yet live?”

Had the room been empty, Cinder might have smiled or even laughed as the solution blossomed within her mind, nourished by Glynda’s clever words. Instead she let their eyes meet for a moment, holding that verdant gaze long enough to make clear that her meaning was known. With a faint bow of her head, the Queen of Spring retreated, never offering a second glance towards Yang’s kneeling form.

“The objection is spoken true.” Cinder said aloud, taking no small pleasure in the conflicted reaction from the prisoner bound at her feet. “Execution would be a cruel fate to be dealt to a young Heir, especially one who acted out of fear rather than reason. I commute the sentence to exile in the Wild Hunt.”

“I am not a Wilding!” Yang snapped, trying to get to her feet. She lunged forward towards Cinder’s throne, only for Neo and Roman to instantly intercept her, gripping at the chains binding Yang like a leash. “I will not let you make me one!”

Rather than rebuke Yang for the attack, Cinder reached out with one hand, her dark nails now akin to claws after so many years of absorbing Autumn’s power. They scraped against one tan cheek, framing the bright eye just above, one that could be as easily plucked as a jewel. Leaning forward, Cinder only paused when her lips were an inch from Yang’s, voice barely louder than breath.

“Learn from this, little one. You allowed passion to move you and will suffer for it.” One claw tapped hard against the twitching muscle in Yang’s jaw, forcing it to desist. “Ambition demands centuries, not moments. Learn patience at Raven’s side or be devoured and forgotten. _That_ is my sentence.”

“I’ll kill you.” The words were growled, but spoken like an oath.

“Perhaps you’ll have the chance.” Cinder admitted, finally allowing a fraction of a smile to reach her lips. “But for now, you are nothing and no one.”

Yang was dragged off before she could protest further, the few Summer nobles that were in attendance following suit so the message could be carried back to the court. That Cinder had not inflicted sanctions and demanded reparations for Yang’s actions was considered a supreme mercy, one that the nobility would swallow like honey to counter the pain of a sovereign dishonored in such a way. With bloodied heads and battered pride, there was no remaining threat they could present to Autumn.

Yet she took pains to ensure that. As a show of faith after Ruby’s coronation, Cinder assigned the Ironblooded to Summer’s service, offering Pyrrha as a bodyguard to make sure that no one would dare attack the newly crowned queen. The gesture was met with thoroughly impressed shock, as plenty were old enough to remember Winter and Cinder’s struggle over the Ironblooded’s rightful court, but it was no matter to the Autumn Queen. Pyrrha was still sworn to serve the queen of her birth, and if Ruby showed the same signs of rebellion as her older sister, a cold iron blade would find its way straight into her heart, carried by the hand of one that could not be cut by it.

On the surface, peace flourished across every seasonal land. Winter’s doors were opened once more after some kind encouragement from Cinder, and she was happy to advise Weiss in complicated political matters. In turn, Glynda brought Ruby under her wing, driving the young queen to reconnect with those in the Summer nobility who had felt displaced by Yang’s reign. While her advice was often ignored by the headstrong sovereign, there was no open conflict to be had, and another generation of flourishing births meant all four courts were packed with young fae more occupied with securing their own inheritances than turning a blade towards their rulers.

Thus, the Wild Hunt was left to their own devices, hunting in the liminal darkness where Grimm sought to corrupt fae lands and feast on the wealth within. With her surname stricken, few in the moving horde knew Yang except as the wounded noble who rode silently by Raven’s side, and she was far from the only fae who could be described as such.

It was not until she met a Faunus exile that old whispers of Winter’s murder reached Yang’s ears. Blake was practically a shadow amongst the Hunt, never daring near the courts after escaping Cinder’s command, but they brought tales from all over, collected from fae and Faunus alike that served outside the courts. A hundred details from a dozen centuries emerged, painting a picture far more terrifying than that of a single murder. It was a plan that begun with toppling the noble houses of the Autumn court when they were but children, and even after the deaths of Summer and Winter, it had not yet reached full fruition.

“And how is it you can be sure about Winter?” Yang demanded, hidden by a huge and rotten tree away from the camp of the Hunt. “I know that Cinder poisoned my mother, but as soon as she asked for proof, it vanished right from under me.”

“Because it was discovered by both Weiss and myself.” The Faunus’ ears twitched atop their head, golden eyes flickering towards the fire in the distance for a moment. “No monster killed her sister. It was the work of the White Fang, of Adam Taurus. He was given the order to do it by Cinder Fall herself, not to mention the weapon strong enough to pierce her heart”

Hope chipped at the doubt blazing in Yang’s eyes. “And who has that blade?”

“Weiss, after I retrieved it.” Blake smiled it a bit at that, turning over one hand to show the scar stretched across that palm. “It’s not the first time he’s cut into me, but you know that pain too, don’t you?”

The phantom ache where Yang’s arm was missing only emerged on occasion, but the question was enough to provoke it again, and bid her to change the subject. “My question is how you know the Queen of Winter so well as to call her by first name without a thought.”

“Raven’s curiosity got the best of her.” Blake began, then shook their head. “She thought to put the rumors to bed by sending me to spy, carrying a ‘message’ for the Winter Court, but what I found was true. And I will not see Weiss suffer the same fate that you have.”

That hadn’t answered her question in the least, but Yang didn’t press further. Patience was far from the only thing that she learned in the hunt, and if keeping the Winter Queen’s indiscretion silent met they had an ally laying in wait, she could only be thankful for the blessing.

 

_\--_

_Fall_

It was the bloodiest Samhain in living memory. Across all four Courts the leaves of trees bristled with colour like an open flame, and their boughs bled amber sap, streaking the bark with gold. Fae from all seasons flocked to the bare-faced ranks of Autumn to embark on the annual hunt. At the head of the procession rode the Autumn Queen draped in grisly scarlet, her newly appointed Grand Huntsman -- Roman, now well-rewarded -- adjusting a befeathered cap at her side. A long train of hunters on horseback wound its way through the steep mountain slopes in search of game, hooves stamping a path of damp dark earth. The mounts were skittish; they shied from hard hands at the reins, from the keen hunch of shoulders and the preternatural glint of teeth at any sign of disturbance in the bush.

The Venery jostled together atop their steeds, eager for the first kill. Far overhead the sky glowered with dark and distant thunder absent rain, and through the gloom the eyes of Autumn fae gleamed like those of wolves, like spots of copper caught in a mold. At the first dart of a fox from the hollow of a tree, three of the Venery leapt from their horses, weapons forgotten. Over the small carcass they fought, snarling until the Grand Huntsman kicked them apart.

Down the line, the scent of fresh blood drew shivers, and the hunting party, once stretched neatly along a narrow canyon, fell into disarray. The sight of antlers through the trees scattered a whole section as they gave chase, mindless in their bloodlust. Half-crazed, the Venery followed suit, forsaking weapons and mounts to stalk their prey on foot. Here a stag’s gory remains were strewn across the forest floor, here a wild boar gored a Courtier to death while their brethren tore into its back with tooth and claw, and there a pack of lordlings prowled around a massive hoary bear, narrowly avoiding the broad swipe of paws before pouncing, dragging the beast to its knees, and ripping it limb from limb.  

Throughout the hunt raged until the Autumn equinox passed, and the next morning fae from every season limped back to the Autumn Court through a thick and low-hanging mist. Clothes bloodied and torn, they loomed through the fog, sated yet shaking. Weltering upon her throne of sun-bleached bone, Cinder welcomed their return. Her crimson gown showed no signs of bloodstains, but wheresoever she walked the hems trailed a blackened glistening swathe in her wake. The Queen of Spring sat at her side, and while she had by all accounts taken no part in the hunt, she followed her wife’s every movement with a gaze of notable hunger.

The bite of Winter was never truly realised. Nor the wilt of Summer. As the millenia stretched on, Spring carried a perennial chill, and Autumn sweltered with heat. Even the Queens of Autumn and Spring reflected these effects: time in Glynda’s presence softened Cinder’s edges, whereas Glynda’s were honed, and the two became like mirrored images of one another. Two opposites, halves creating a single whole. Life faded between first thaw rather than first blossom, first kill rather than first frost, until four seasons blended into merely two, and life among the Courts knew -- as much as they ever could -- peace.

The Queens of Summer and Winter were never denied legitimacy outright, but all knew where true power lay; they could feel it in the earth, in their very bones. More Grimm prowled the outskirts of the realms than ever before, fae corrupted by Dust and starvation alike. The more the imbalance grew, the more their numbers swelled, and suddenly that magnanimity with which Cinder and Glynda condemned lawbreakers to the Wild Hunt was now a necessity. No member of the Hunt could be spared for trivial matters as in the past, and they petitioned the two Queens to allow more aggressive recruitment for volunteers at the Courts.

Reluctant, and persuaded only by her wife -- as she only ever was these centuries -- Cinder allowed it, and Glynda welcomed the shift. Younger fae, faced with no prospects or chances at advancement through the traditional ranks at their Courts -- at once stagnating and bursting at the seams with unprecedented numbers -- marched off to join the ranks of Wild Hunt in droves. And there, unbeknownst to Glynda and Cinder, the fae found not only Grimm but the seeds of a new rebellion.

At the fore of the insurrection stood key members of exile. Raven and her twin Qrow organised the ranks of dissenters into a formidable force. Coco, Yatsuhashi, Fox and Velvet never forgot their parent’s deaths at the hands of the executioner queen of Autumn, and were both the most rigorous recruiters of the Wild Hunt and the most vicious fighters against the ever-encroaching Grimm. Those White Fang banished during the first Rebellion at last found a home in the Hunt and an unsuspecting leader in Blake, the spy who courted the Winter Throne. Yang maintained contact with her sister, who in secret acknowledged Yang’s claim to Summer and ruled only in her absence.

Together in collaboration with Weiss, reluctant to act but willing to listen and only just learning to fully control the might of Winter, they plotted and they waited. Slowly they sowed defiance, reaching out to the Knights of Spring and Summer -- Ren and esteemed Summer veteran Nora Valkyrie -- who had watched with worry the effects of this prolonged unity of Spring and Autumn. Jaune, loyal to a fault, would chose his close friend and mentor over his increasingly distant Queen, but all plans would be stymied if the rebellion could not convince a single other fae of note to join their cause.

Pyrrha was, despite being on indefinite loan to Summer, kept shackled to the Autumn throne. On occasion Cinder would pull her from Ruby’s service and parade the Ironblooded across the four Courts just to prove she could, just to serve as a reminder that Autumn wielded the Ironblooded like a living weapon, and that wheresoever Spring tread Autumn would follow at Glynda’s side.

On one such visit to the Winter Court, Cinder ordered Pyrrha to serve Weiss at a private banquet held away from prying eyes. Cinder laughed, a sound warm and cruel even in that arctic place, at Weiss’ poorly concealed ire from such an overt display of power. “Fear not, young one. Don’t you know your time will come?” She mocked, twirling the silver cutlery between her fingers. “It takes centuries to make a blade sharp enough to pierce a Queen’s back.”

Pyrrha’s hand clenched around the pitcher used to pour Weiss’ wine, the movement holding enough force that the smooth porcelain cracked. She had to feign clumsiness and drop the elegant crackleware,where it shattered upon the frost-slicked marble floors.

Soon after Pyrrha returned to Ruby’s charge, steely with resolve, she demanded to be a part of whatever the young Summer Queen was planning with her exiled sister. Over Ruby’s protests that nothing at all suspicious was going on, Pyrrha fixed her with a flinty stare and insisted. “I know you are preparing something with the Wild Hunt. I watch. I listen. I would never betray your trust.”

“But Cinder…” Ruby began weakly, wringing her signature Grimm-toothed scythe between her hands. “Not that I would ever doubt you, Pyrrha! It’s just -- Cinder is Cinder, and you’re very _dutiful.”_

Pyrrha’s laugh was hollow, yet her eyes softened as she reached out to still the nervous fiddling of Ruby’s hands.  “I have been dutiful to a tyrant long enough. I think it is time I find in myself the strength to rebel and serve one far more worthy of my unique talents.”

Ruby’s answering smile was slow and bright as a midsummer dawn. Tentative, she reached out to cup Pyrrha’s cheek -- the first touch of another fae that Pyrrha could recall in years -- and murmured. “I think as Queen it is above all else _my_ duty to serve.”

Eyes widening, Pyrrha stared at her for a moment in stunned silence. Then she smiled, shaking her head and holding Ruby’s hand in place with her own. “That is precisely why it must be you. I would have it no other way.”

“Then, as Queen,” Ruby shrugged her shoulders and added blithely, “we may not have an audience or witnesses to this union, but -- as Queen I dub thee Champion of the Realm of Summer.”

With a soft laugh, Pyrrha nonetheless bowed her head as though they were stationed before a great crowded ceremony and not in Ruby’s private chambers, “I hope to serve you well, Majesty.”

Ruby leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Pyrrha’s brow, murmuring, “That I will never doubt.”

It was with intense relief more than joy that the rebellion welcomed Pyrrha to their ranks. At last, they were able to plan their final assault upon the joined forces of Spring and Autumn, and dare to dream of victory.

It began in Autumn, where all things found their downfall. Cinder was awash with power, engorged upon it at the height of her season, and fully confident -- overly so. The Autumn Court’s forces were smaller in number but infinitely more vicious, thirsty for blood and battle. However, where Cinder thrived, Glynda was at her weakest, and above all else the rebel leaders feared a Spring sovereign at her most potent. In a battle Autumn would terrorize, but in a war Spring would vanquish.

The march started -- just as before -- with Summer. Ruby’s troops crossed the rocky border between their realms on a swift forward tack, and Cinder was quicker still to answer. They clashed in a wooded valley, and the roots of trees drank deeply of fae blood. All through the night and into the next morning the cries of the dead and dying filled the air until Summer made a slow retreat up the mountainside. Urged on by bloodlust, whipped to a frenzy, the Autumn troops pressed in close pursuit, not knowing that the Ironblooded whispered secrets and tactics to the Summer Queen.

When the Summer line caved inward and Autumn took the bait, Pyrrha and Ruby together circled round to flank their near-rabid opponents. There upon the steeply bouldered slopes with nowhere to flee the Autumn troops were led to a calculating slaughter. Who they did not kill, Ruby’s soldiers took as prisoners of war, tethering them to the supply chain wagons as the Summer Court turned its gaze to Autumn’s capital, where the queen waited.

Thoroughly routed, Cinder nevertheless managed to raise an auxiliary force that could buy her enough time for Glynda to arrive with reinforcements. Alone, Ruby might have struggled to pin Cinder in place, but from the south rode Weiss with her ghost-eyed army. Not a single drop of Winter Court blood need be spilled when the young Winter Queen -- thought to not yet be powerful enough -- could muster a corps of the risen dead. Small but formidable, Weiss’ legions in union with Ruby’s trapped Cinder within her fortress, where the Autumn Queen raged against her walls in a mighty fury and frustration.

To the north, Glynda fielded the largest army the four Courts had ever seen. Vast and young and powerful, the Spring Court took to the battlegrounds. Their size made them slow, bulky, unwieldy, and in the narrow twisting vales of Autumn numbers meant little. When Spring was threaded through the gorges, the Wild Hunt attacked. They rained down arrows and fell magics from far above, and whenever Spring soldiers finally seemed the pin them down, the Wild Hunt would twist and vanish into the shadows beneath tangled boughs.

When at last the Spring army made it to Autumn’s fortress, their numbers had dwindled, ground away by the Wild Hunt to a shade of its former self. Only Glynda’s might -- weakened as she was by the seasonal change -- preserved them to any extent. Troops huddling, amassed around her, she shielded them from further attack as they poured into the final valley where Summer and Winter’s armies waited for the final battle.

Across the basin Glynda cast her gaze. There, a lonely fortress spire raking the clouded sky. There, the torches of Autumn burning bright, clustered together like prisoners awaiting the headsman’s block, the gory axe. And there, sprawled through the rest of the valley, Summer and Winter united in a common cause against a common enemy. Glancing behind her, to the darkened forest gorge through which she’d come, Glynda knew the Wild Hunt lay in wait for the slightest movement, patient to strike from the shadows.

“Ren,” Glynda, not bothering to dismount from her blue-skinned hart, commanded her Knight, who watched her with silent eyes. “I must discuss terms with the Autumn Queen. I leave you in charge of my armies until my return.”

“My Queen.”

The disruption in his perpetual silence stopped Glynda short, and she held his gaze for a moment, curious as to what would drive him to such action. “Speak quickly.”

“Tell me that you did this because you loved her, and not because you sought to betray the other Courts.” Desperation left his voice ragged, and in that moment Glynda knew where his loyalty truly lay. “Tell me you’re not a traitor, after so many years guiding Spring.”

She weighed her options, and saw no path forward except to answer honestly. “I love Cinder still, and thus I stand a traitor now. If she falls, I must follow.”

A beat of silence passed, and in that moment, Glynda could hear the battle building in the distance. “I see.”

Ren bowed deeply and Glynda jerked her reins, wheeling her hart around. Towards the fortress the cloven hooves thundered, carrying her, swift and quiet and alone, through the sheer woods. A towering grief roared in Glynda’s chest; it came crashing towards her through the trees, closing in on all sides. A fear, and early despair. Frantic, she urged her hart on, racing to the castle, to Cinder encloistered within.

Upon the walls Autumn archers aimed their bows, only to lower them when they recognised the rider’s approach. The gate was ordered open a sliver, and Glynda burst into the crowded courtyard without slowing her pace. From the back of her still-moving mount she leapt to the ground, and the stones beneath her feet crawled with new verdant moss. Soldiers fell to their knees in respect, and Roman tried to approach -- all oil and smarm even at a time like this -- to inform Glynda as to the current state of things. She ignored him completely, and hurried from the courtyard to the steps that would bear her to Cinder.

The dark, violet lined velvet of Glynda’s riding cloak flared behind her, and beneath it her armour glinted with an elegant silvered edge. She wore no crown but the mark of her Inheritance etched in gold dust at her back, at her breastplate, and embroidered on the heavy cloak between her shoulders. In the harsh torchlight her face was an eerie plane of hard light and shadow -- the unlined agelessness juxtaposed with her snowy white hair. The ages had polished her smooth and unyielding, and her booted footsteps planted gardens along the stone passageways.

In the highest tower Cinder brooded alone, having ordered Neo to assemble the soldiers, and when Glynda burst through the door it was to find her staring into the fireplace. A blaze burned without logs or smoke, pure of flame and sparks. Cinder did not look up when Glynda entered, nor when Glynda closed the iron-banded door slowly behind her.

“I was hoping you’d come, irrational as it may be.” When Cinder spoke at last her voice was rough, overly-controlled. “I’d received reports of the Wild Hunt’s attack, their disavowal of neutrality, and I thought --”

Her voice broke off; she cleared her throat to hide a crack in composure and turned to look out the open window, where the enemy campfires could be seen. For a moment Glynda stared at her, then she crossed the space to gently clasp Cinder’s shoulder with a trembling hand. “They’d not kill me. I’d not let them without seeing you first.”

Cinder’s shoulders were stiff, her skin burning beneath the wolfskin pelt slung over her pauldrons. Bitterly she spat, “No, you’re right. They’ll want us for a public trial and execution.”

“As would we, were we in their position. As we have been many times before.” Glynda softened her voice as best she could, and she turned Cinder round. “I knew we would have to pay the price for this one day. No amount of happiness like the centuries we've shared comes freely.”

At last Cinder looked up at her, and her expression was dipped in the golden glow of the fire, wretched yet stubborn and fierce as ever. “There could be no other end for me, but you --” She lowered her gaze, shaking her head and swallowing thickly. “Mine is blood and fire, but without me you could have had every chance at life still.”

With a rueful, watery laugh Glynda cupped Cinder’s cheeks with both hands, tilting her head up to look her full in the face. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, my wild one. I chose you first long ago over preservation of duty and life. That has never changed."

Looking back over the years, the many long centuries, Glynda could not help but smile. She found irony in the truth of Ozpin’s words all those years ago, that she could find happiness at last in the crown when ruling meant having Cinder at her side. Even now with the dim campfires of their opponents burning over Cinder’s should like funerary pyres, Glynda could see a future for others if not for themselves -- a flourishing fae population like none the realms had ever seen, a generation of talented and young monarchs united together in pursuit of a common cause, a season of change blooming on the horizon like a wounded dawn.

“All my life, I’d striven to distance myself from a bleak legacy. I thought that all I wanted was to become the name I could never Inherit from an Unseelie mother. But now that it’s all said and done -” Cinder took a deep shaky breath, and she reached up to trace the crown emblazoned on the front of Glynda’s breastplate, “Dying here with you is a blessing I never dreamed to achieve.”

Glynda pulled Cinder close to kiss her, hard and desperate. Together they waited for the attack at dawn, and when the new day rose from the ashes, they refused to fall quietly. Their armies were scattered or otherwise turned treason, fleeing to whichever court would have them. Ren marched the legions of Spring with the Wild Hunt and allied Faunus from the flank, while Weiss and Ruby laid waste to what remained of Autumn’s forces around the fortress. Led by Roman and Neo, Autumn’s armies scattered, and the two would have joined them had they not been cornered by Ruby and her Champion, and their lives extinguished.  

When at last the keep was stormed, Cinder and Glynda were waiting with fire and lightning at their fingertips. They called upon the earth-shaking heavens, the scorching blaze, and to the bitter end they fought until the fortress went up in a conflagration, returning all within to fine-ground dust. Without their love to foster the blaze, the future had a chance to rise from the ashes.

A quiet calm settled over the four Courts. With no Heir to take Cinder’s place, the Autumn throne’s inheritance fell to popular demand -- the Faunus at last finding their place in a realm with Blake crowned Sovereign, unanimously accepted by the other rulers as worthy of command. With it, the ties of Winter and Autumn were mended after millennia of strife since the last great war of the realms between Silberne and Ambrose, and Weiss was often seen in their company.

The titles stolen by Cinder from high-ranking gentry were redistributed, and those executed under Cinder’s rule were no longer proclaimed traitors of the realm. While Coco, Yatsuhashi, Fox, and Velvet remained in the Wild Hunt together, the choice to return to their estates was always available. More than once Coco could be heard laughing that her mother was now a martyr, and that after all this time Cythera still managed to make herself the center of attention.

As Knight of Spring, Ren held reluctant control over the realm after Glynda’s passing, refusing to sit upon the ancient living throne until the nobility demanded he officially take the seat. Crowned as King, he named Jaune his Knight, Nora his bride -- though those who knew the pair understood that Nora was in truth the one to propose to Ren.

In the Summer Court, Ruby restored her sister to the station she deserved, and together the two ruled in unison. Pledged as Summer’s Champion, Pyrrha remained in Ruby’s service, theirs flowering into a relationship that all others noticed before they did themselves. On the other hand, Yang took no royal consort, though her frequent trips to the Spring Court to visit Ren and Nora raised many brows, especially during Beltane.

The Wild Hunt was raised by all Sovereigns from obscure neutrality into a peacekeeping force, dedicated to maintaining balance between the four Courts. Over time the Grimm presence began to wane, Unseelie attacks grew sparse, then non-existent. Younglings were told horror stories of Grimm attacks, but never had to fear them.

The site of Autumn’s last bastion remained a blackened spot. Among the twisted melted ruins nothing grew but twin trees, hollow yet entwined -- one with new green buds forever upon the verge of flowering, the other caught in late and vibrant colour. None dared desecrate the place, and it remained a quiet memorial. It was often said that the work of the Queens had been undone, but those who had been closest to Cinder and Glynda knew better.

The world would not be what it was now without them.

  
\--  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> “Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.”  
> ― Albert Camus


End file.
